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dad in tights and my mom in a push-up bustier run around a plywood facsimile of an old English village,
saying things like for-sooth and zounds! Finally we made it to Arizona, where we picked up a really
skinny hitchhiker named Turin. He claimed to be investigating UFOs and talked Les and Rosie into
driving seventy miles off course to the middle of some desert so that we could drop him off at a point he
called the pickup spot. It took us three more days to make it through New Mexico, since Les kept
stopping at Indian pueblos. He loves showing off his knowledge of Zuni and Laguna culture by leading
around groups of tourists, with his big sun hat and walking stick, looking like a redheaded hippie wizard.
You d never know it by looking at him, but my dad is sort of a genius. He has two PhDs from two
different schools: one in theater and one in medieval studies. He s forty-four years old and still doesn t
know what he wants to be when he grows up. Rosie is a forty-year-old flower child. She doesn t do
hallucinogenic drugs (at least anymore) or sleep with everyone she feels a karmic bond with (that I know
of), but she s big on dancing anywhere, anytime. Like at my junior choir concert last year. While all the
other parents sat in their chairs, smiling and looking proud, she leaped to her feet and began an
interpretive dance to our rendition of Can You Feel the Love Tonight. At least she knows what she
wants to do with her life. That s why we re moving to Austin. She got accepted into this really famous
massage school. She ll finish her course work in four months and then& who knows where we ll end up?
And me? Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes I think I don t know myself well enough to figure
out what I should be. Last summer I started seriously thinking about becoming a cultural anthropologist,
like Margaret Mead. The great thing about it is that when you re doing a study, you stay in one place for
a really long time, observing and interviewing. You can t just take off and leave things half finished. If you
do, all the hard work you ve done up till then will be worthless.
Of course, last summer I started picturing Trevor in my future too. And look how that ended up.
I stare out the rear window in the direction we came from toward Portland and Trevor. A dark shape
rolls across the road, followed by a second, smaller one. Tumbleweeds, Les calls them. Uprooted
bushes that go wherever the wind takes them.
Just like us.
My lips go all wiggly again, so I press them together to make them stop. I need to crawl away
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somewhere and have a good cry, maybe even call Lorraine. It would make me feel better to hear her
cursing Trevor s name in one of her filthy rants. But then, maybe it wouldn t. After all, I miss her too.
If you were to look through my address book and see the hundred-odd entries, you d assume I was one
of those rich teen starlets who carry around hamster-sized dogs in designer sweaters and attend parties
every night. But the truth is I don t have many friends.
Oh sure, those address-book contacts allstart out as my friends. Right before we leave a place, they
hug me tearfully and promise to write and call. I get a few e-mails, maybe a phone call or two, in the first
couple of months. Gradually the letters get shorter and less frequent. The phone calls become awkward
and boring. And then everything just stops. In a matter of months, I go from one of their best friends, to a
long-distance buddy, to this girl I used to know.
And now Trevor.Damn! He didn t even try!
It isn t fair. I don t want to go to Austin. It s not like there s anything there for me. Rosie will finish up
her certification. Les will run the thrift store of his friend Satya. And me? I just get to repeat this misery all
over again only in a new place and with new people.
Knowing this makes me mad-sad-scared. I can t do the new-school drill anymore. If I m going to leave
in a few months, why even bother trying to fit in? I should probably just give up on friends this time
around and be one of those creepy loner types.
Wait& .
Actually& now that I think about it, that s not such a bad idea.
I struggle upright, feeling energized. I ve never considered it that way before. It reallydoesn t make
sense to find a new crowd of pals if we re not even going to stay past the holidays. So& what if I just
avoided that altogether? What if I kept to myself and did nothing but schoolwork steering clear of all
the social stuff?
Of course, it wouldreally suck. No one to talk to (except Les and Rosie). No parties. No one to hang
out with. Basically no fun at all. School has always been a place where I could feel normal. Could I stand
not being one of the normal kids? I ve always been popular, at least a little bit, and I ve never,ever
been a complete loser. So if I wanted to become one on purpose& could I even pull it off?
Four months of solitude would be better than how I feel right now. If no one likes me and I don t like
anyone, then I won t have anyone to lose.
It s a crazy idea, but I have to admit, it s also kind of brilliant. No friends, no fun clubs, anddefinitely no
boyfriends. Then, when it comes time to move, it won t hurt at all. Maybe I ll even look forward to it!
I reach for my woven Guatemalan tote and rummage through the contents for a pen and the notepad I
keep to remind me of stuff. The frantic, ripped-up feeling that came over me after reading Trevor s
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